Reflections in the Rain
by Spirit Summoner
Summary: Dartz, Amelda, Varon and Raphael find themselves being torn apart from the only family they have left by the one thing they all fear most – the past. Doma angst with eventual friendship fluff and WAFF.


Reflections in the Rain

Some people love the rain, others hate it, but you can never stop the rain from falling – or can you? Four individuals find themselves being torn apart from the only family they have left by the one thing they all fear most – the past. Doma angst with eventual friendship fluff and WAFF. Non – yaoi.

I don't usually like to have particularly long rants at the beginning pf my fics, but what the hey – it's my fic and I can do what I want, right? Right.

Anyway, this is the longest chapter I have ever written yet. I was planning on making this a really long one shot, but I've had to split the story because it is so long and I feel that it needs the break at the end of this chapter. This chapter can actually stand alone, but I think I'd like to resolve it. After all, the Doma guys have been through so much it would be a shame to leave them all depressed.

I haven't actually written the end of the story yet so I'm open to suggestions on how you think I should conclude the fic.

And for any of you who may be reading my yaoi Doma fic 'Hate and Other Four Letter Words' do not fear because I'm working on the next one shot right now. I'm also planning to write a humour Doma fic as well as continue with the Amelda x Varon story.

Wow, so much to do and so little time…

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic and please read and review.

* * *

Night swept over Doma Headquarters submerging the already imposing building in an almost suffocating darkness. The flickering candles that Dartz kept to light the structure cast sinister shadows over the ancient stone walls. A chilling breeze sifted through the archways leading to the entrance was, which in turn led directly to the alter and Dartz's room of souls. 

Dartz, however, was not – like he usually was – within. The periwinkle haired Atlantean was actually sat sipping wine on the top floor of his skyscraper that housed his Paradia Company. Today had been a long day. He had encountered more problems than he had anticipated when attempting to seize control of Industrial Illusions, as well as buying as many shares as he could from Kaiba Corp. In the end, he was forced to withdraw his bids and all his carefully laid plans collapsed.

Swirling the dark liquid in the fine crystal glass that he held in his right hand, Dartz frowned. He was tired and uncomfortable – the dark lavender suit he wore for business meetings and such suffocated him. Truth to be told, he really wasn't much of a business man himself, but recognised the importance of establishing himself as a respected person in the modern world.

Not that it would matter in the end – but still, he found it amusing to play around with the lives of people. They really were insignificant creatures. He enjoyed toying with their simple minds, hiring them only to fire them – but sometimes they just weren't worth his time. They all believed themselves to be important, but in reality they acted only as mere pawns to be used by the Great Leviathan.

Dartz leant back in his chair. All lights in the building had been disabled. It was not that Dartz was too cheap to pay the electricity bills or anything – after all he owned his own multibillion dollar company – it was just that he preferred the darkness. It had been what he had been surrounded by for so long, and without it, he couldn't help but feel lost.

Rain could be heard falling against the window before slipping down the panes of glass.

_Each drop – so insignificant_, thought Dartz. _But together, they have the strength to bring down walls. Together, they can power storms, to flood, to drown._

To kill.

He once remembered being told a story about the legend of a man who could stop the rain from falling – this man had the power of the gods and could control the world if he wanted. Dartz wanted to be this man – he wanted the world.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a powerful engine.

_Raphael, no doubt. _

Raphael had an intense hatred of rain and especially storms. It was such an occurrence that broke his perfect world and left him stranded on a deserted island with no one but himself. Raphael never stayed indoors on such nights, not when the wind howled at him and the rain hammered at his windows. Instead, he rode.

He drove for miles and miles, at speeds that any ordinary man would have trouble controlling the bike. When he drove like this, he could drive straight through a storm without even thinking of his family. When he stayed in, lying in bed waiting for sleep to call him away, he would find his mind full of memories that he'd rather forget.

_It was too painful._

Knowing that one night like this, all those years ago, he was taken away from those he loved by a terrible storm. And so, he would drive forever forwards. It took all his concentration. One miscalculation and it would be all over for him, and so he never gave himself the liberty of remembering that Fateful night. By driving so recklessly, he also drove away all his feelings.

Dartz set down his goblet and waked towards the window. Resting one hand against the cold surface of the glass, he stared out at the city below him. From his office, he could see all of Domino, spread out in front of him like a kingdom waiting to be conquered.

Dartz felt himself sigh. As the rain feel from the heavens, they reflected the garish lights of the city. Every so often, Dartz would notice an acid green raindrop fall away from the sky. It reminded him of the Fateful night the Oricalchos first appeared.

_The night everything changed._

Massaging his temples with the fingers of his right hand, Dartz shut his eyes. Although it had occurred ten thousand years ago, his memories of that evening had not faded. He could still see his people tearing through the streets in a blind panic. But it wasn't just that one night which haunted him. No, it was what had followed.

_Greed, envy and lust._

His once perfect people had become corrupted right in front of his eyes. At last, Dartz saw the truth, and for that, Dartz was ever grateful for the Oricalchos – it had shown him the extent of his people's imperfections and gave him a way to right it all.

All he had to do was sacrifice the souls of the unworthy to the cause of awakening the Great Leviathan who would in turn cleanse the world of all its impurities. He was to become the saviour of the world and bring about a new utopia for all that were deemed worthy.

It should have all been done ten thousand years ago. Then, all the evils of mankind wouldn't have had time to grow and manifest as they had. Now, he had to fight against so much more. It was a good thing he had help, although at times, they left a lot to be desired. Not that he could blame them.

Like himself, the Oricalchos had shown them all that was wrong with their lives and gave them a chance to right them and redeem themselves. It mattered little that Dartz himself had used his power to 'influence' certain events in their lives so that they would be aware of the darkness that surrounded them.

Dartz wasn't really as cruel and as heartless as he seemed. Perhaps he had been unfair; after all, he had destroyed three innocent lives. But then again, in this world – who was really innocent? Besides, it wasn't as though he didn't take care of his chosen three. He had given them a home, and the one thing that the Oricalchos had taken from all of them – family, however dysfunctional it was at times.

Dartz grew tired and resolved to return to his lair. He walked out of the room and waved his hand over the control panel of the elevator. The doors parted, but instead of metal, the chamber inside was made of stone. He stepped inside and all of a sudden, his suit glowed brightly, only to be replaced by the flowing robes of Atlantean royalty when the light faded.

It was strange that ten thousand years had done little to alter the way the age old king dressed and acted. He still expected to be obeyed at all costs and had kept up many of his old rituals. Praying to the Great Leviathan was only one of them.

He lay a hand on a stone panel at the centre of the back wall. With a low rumble, the wall began to lift, until a long tunnel was revealed. Dartz smiled slightly, it was good to back home. He made his way down the stone corridor, supported by stone pillars. Eventually, he reached his soul room.

Kneeling down in front of the alter, Dartz prayed to the Great Leviathan, promising it more souls to feed it. Well, at least until –

"_Varon, you idiot!"_

"_What?"_

"_What the hell do you think you're doing?"_

"_What's the big deal? It's only a –"_

"_Get out!"_

Dartz was suddenly interrupted by yet another argument between Varon and Amelda. He growled in irritation.

"Insolent fools!" he grumbled. Not only did the pair have the audacity to fail him in their assigned missions, but they were actually starting to drive him crazy. When he had assembled Doma he had simply chosen strong Duellists with reasons to hate the world. He failed to consider personality clashes, or in Raphael's case, a lack thereof.

Cursing in frustration at yet another problem, Dartz stormed out of his alter room and made his way to his chambers. He had had enough for one day. Sure, he had put up with some crap over the years, but nothing compared to the amount of exasperation he experienced with his assembled team. Well, not so much a team so much as it was a group of people who did what he told them to. He would call them minions, but that he knew, was now politically incorrect.

He couldn't wait until he could finally right everything that was wrong with the world.

* * *

Varon suddenly found himself staring at an irate red head who looked like he was baying for blood. 

And for once it wasn't that of Seto Kaiba.

Today just wasn't his day, it seemed. He just kept on getting under people's feet. Contrary to popular belief, not all members of Doma were moody loners like Amelda or brooding individuals like Raphael. Also contrary to popular belief, Varon didn't hang around simply to make a nuisance of himself – it was just that he got, well lonely.

It wasn't so much the being alone that bothered him. After all, his childhood had been made up of him moving from home to home and then finally prison where he had been kept in isolation for the most part. No, loneliness was part of his life.

It was just Varon got bored. That was the reason he appeared to stalk Mai. It wasn't, like many people thought, due to an obsessive infatuation with the loud mouthed blonde, it was more because he had nothing better to do. Really, the only thing the two really had in common was a problem with Joey Wheeler – although they had distinctly different reasons – and lot's of hair. His loneliness was also the reason he had decided to join Doma. He thought that it would give him something to do – a new challenge.

Varon hated being alone because he would get bored and when he became bored, his mind would drift. He would be taken back into his past, with all the smoke and flames, blood and death. It was not something he was particularly proud of or something he wished to dwell on. As long as he had people around him, or was kept busy, then the memories would be kept at bay.

This was why he had decided to spend the day with Amelda. He just couldn't bear to face his past.

But Amelda wasn't to know that. The magenta haired man thought that Varon simply wanted to piss him off, and in his opinion, was doing a damn good job of it.

Granted, Amelda wasn't the easiest person to please, but usually he had a high threshold when it came to patience – especially since he was planning on destroying Seto Kaiba. Now a project like that would take a lot of time, planning and above all, patience.

Seto Kaiba was a rich man with a highly successful company, strangely loyal employees considering how arrogant and uncaring the brunette seemed and most importantly, he had his brother. That was one of the reasons Amelda hated him so much – he still had his family.

And he had destroyed his. Amelda was not about to let a crime like that go unpunished and he was determined to make Seto Kaiba pay. He was going to break Seto Kaiba, bit by bit – make him experience the years of hurt and pain that he himself had endured over the years.

It wasn't enough to defeat Seto Kaiba – he would make him suffer. He would take everything away from him – demolish Kaiba Corp, strip him of his life and watch the man crumble, sinking deeper and deeper into oblivion while he rose victorious.

Too bad Varon had other plans.

Varon – damn that chocolate haired pain in the ass. Since Dartz had given the day off Amelda had wanted to use the time to calculate how to exact his revenge, but no sooner had the mornings meeting ended then he found himself being dragged off in the direction of the Rec. Room by Varon.

Okay, so it was really just a broom cupboard with the smallest and oldest colour TV known to man and a couple of SNES machines – really, with the money that Dartz had accumulated over the years you'd think they would have owned a whole chain of arcades.

But no. He had already given the three a home, a job and most importantly three of the best motorcycles ever produced. They had even been customised to their exact specifications. Dartz couldn't see what else they could possibly want from him. Motorcycles, GameCubes – the next thing you knew they would want the world. That, they couldn't have – the world belonged to him.

That was something people never suspected with Dartz – that he was tight-fisted, stingy and cheap. Apparently he had once been a fair and caring king. The Doma Warriors laughed at the thought. Dartz made them pay for everything themselves.

"Varon? Where are you taking me?" he demanded.

"You heard Dartz," he answered in his rich accent. "We have the day off."

"Yes, so will you please tell me what you're doing?" asked Amelda, his annoyance growing by the second.

Varon suddenly stopped and spun around to face Amelda. "Listen mate, you need to loosen up and I'm gonna help you."

"Oh? And just how do you plan on doing that?" Amelda rested his gloved hands on his hips.

"By teaching you how to have fun," answered Varon simply.

"I know how to have fun," snapped Amelda irritably.

Varon raised an eyebrow. "Really? I don't think planning the perfect revenge is on anyone's recommended list of things to do to relieve stress," he said sarcastically.

"I'm not stressed!" shouted Amelda, folding his arms in front of his chest while spitting out each word as though it was a bone he was choking on.

"Right, and Raphael is actually a drag queen in his spare time."

There was a brief moment of silence as Amelda tried to hide his smirk at the thought of Raphael in full drag, feather boa, fishnets and all. He quickly shook the image from his mind when 'Lady' Raphael appeared to be leaving Dartz's room with a cigarette in his hand…

"Varon, don't you have anyone else to annoy?"

In all seriousness, Varon answered. "Not at the moment."

Amelda fought the urge to collapse or at least smack Varon over the head with his boots.

Really, sometimes it was hard to believe that the young man stood in front of him was actually an elite warrior chosen for his intelligence, skill and prowess.

As it was, Amelda really wasn't in the mood to deal with the troublesome and at times exhausting brunette. Distracting Varon with a hint at something new and shiny in Raphael's room, Amelda quickly made his getaway and disappeared into his own room. Slamming the door shut, he closed his eyes as he leant against the cold wood.

He let out an evil, maniacal laugh at having outwitted Varon as well as evading anymore of his tiresome behaviour.

"What's so funny, mate?"

"Argh!" he screamed one hand placed over his pounding heart. Varon had nearly given him a heart attack, but he wasn't going to tell him that.

Varon, you see, was perched on the end of Amelda's bed with his booted feet tucked under him Indian style. One elbow was rested on a knee so that he could rest his chin in a cupped hand. The other arm lay across his lap idly tugging at his belt loops.

"Varon – what the hell are you doing in here?"

Silver eyes met with soft blue as Varon blinked at him questioningly as though the answer was obvious. Then he shrugged. Amelda felt like tearing his hair out – and by his, he meant Varon's mess of spikes, not his own. Really, that would be pointless and not to mention painful. Hm…maybe he could do that to Kaiba…

"Are you thinking about Kaiba again?" asked Varon suddenly.

"What?" Amelda was taken aback. How could Varon have known?

Varon nodded sagely to himself. "I thought so," he paused. "Amelda, did you know that when you think about Kaiba your eyes go almost black, which is funny since your knuckles turn white and your face goes red."

Amelda glanced briefly at his hands. He hadn't realised that he had balled them into fists so tight his knuckles were cracking and the tendons showed.

"What's the deal with you two anyway? I know it's gotta be more than just Dartz assigning you to take his soul – you're always talking about getting 'revenge' on him or something."

"That is none of your business," replied Amelda snootily.

"Well that's your loss I guess," Varon's happy demeanour didn't change a bit.

"Varon, what are you doing here?" questioned Amelda again, but the chocolate haired male had already rolled off the bed and was busy poking at various items that covered Amelda's wooden chest of drawers.

Amelda himself had to admit that it was a bit messy – he tended just to throw whatever he didn't need on top until he found the time to put it away properly. So, currently he had his deck and duel disk lying among several freshly laundered items of clothing. Varon snatched one up.

"Wow – and I thought women bought loads of underwear. What did you do, mate? Rob a lingerie store?" asked Varon as he twirled the soft cotton between his fingers.

"Varon – I told you – it's a tank top!"

Amelda was turned red, although it could have been from anger or embarrassment. After all, it's not everyday an 'Australian' biker went through your clothes and told you that your favourite top resembled a woman's sports bra. Then again, if you were Amelda it happened at every opportunity open to said 'Australian' biker.

"If you say so…" answered Varon dubiously. He decided not question why Amelda kept so many 'tank tops.' How many shirts could one guy need?

Amelda grabbed it back and quickly shoved it into the top drawer, giving Varon a glimpse of – well, let's just say that a certain CEO probably never thought that would be the Fate of one of his headshots from the business section of the Domino Weekly…

Amelda sighed.

_When in the hell is Varon gonna leave?_

"Well, hello. What's this 'ere fella?" asked Varon as he rescued some poor object from the rubbish heap that covered the length of the wooden unit.

"Give that back!" Amelda snapped suddenly seeing a flash of faded red and blue in Varon's hand.

"What?"

"Give it back. Now."

Varon smirked. He had never seen Amelda so worked up, and over something as seemingly insignificant as the small object he held in his palm.

"Make me." He challenged, waving the item teasingly in front of cloudy grey eyes.

Amelda reached out to snatch back his possession, but Varon hid it behind his back at the last second. He shot out a hand, trying to grab an arm, but Varon squirmed out of his reach and jumped onto the bed, laughing crazily.

Amelda seized an ankle mid-jump, causing Varon to lose his balance and fall off the bed, hitting his head on the bedside lamp. But that wasn't important. What was important however, was the short, sharp sound of plastic snapping.

In a flash of panic, Amelda leapt over Varon's stricken body and then hoisted it off the floor. Grey eyes turned dark as the anger in Amelda soared.

"Varon, you idiot!"

"What?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What's the big deal? It's only a –"

"Get out!"

Varon stared at Amelda. His hair was a mess and his eyes blazed with a fury he had never seen before. What had he done to upset the red head so?

"What?"

Bare shoulders shook madly with what Varon thought was rage.

"What have I done?"

"Just get out Varon – you've done enough damage – just go!" Amelda screamed furiously, but if he didn't give in to his fury, he knew he would have already given in to his tears.

The words echoed in Varon's mind.

"Fine! I know when I'm not wanted," he shouted back. Mechanically, his legs began to move abruptly and he found himself striding out of Amelda's room. When the door firmly shut on him he sprinted to his own and slammed the door before collapsing in a heap on the floor.

"_You've done enough damage."_

"_Leave – we don't want you anymore."_

"_Get out, get out, and get out!"_

The memory of his past that he had tried so hard to avoid had come back in full force. The words – the words of all those who had fostered him, promised to care for him…Those had been empty promises – they only agreed to have him because he came with a tidy sum of money each week. They didn't care.

He didn't even know what he had done to deserve such treatment. Even his own parents had abandoned him for some unknown reason.

By the time Varon realised this, he too stopped caring. He broke away, determined not to put up with such selfish people. He was a pain – no he was a nightmare. Impossible, and he met everyone of their rejections, each door slammed in his face with the same defiant attitude – the same uncaring words.

"_Fine, I know when I'm not wanted."_

He only knew because he had never been wanted.

"I'm never wanted…" he sobbed.

* * *

One time coloured plastic now grey with age lay against the dark blue carpet lining the floor. Crumpling to his knees, Amelda punched the floor with his fist. 

_Why does it hurt so much?_

He thought he had finished dealing with the pain of losing his brother. He had accepted it and hadn't shed a tear. So why was he crying now? And over such a trivial matter.

He hadn't cried when his brother was murdered, so why was he bawling like a baby over the ancient toy that lay broken in front of him?

The rain battered against his window menacingly.

Gods how he hated the rain…

He closed his eyes, but it was no use. Like the rain, his memories began to flood back into his life.

"_Where's mom_?" asked Miiruko as he toyed with Dino Dude figure absently.

"_She's gone_," whispered Amelda sadly.

"_Oh_," replied his brother – he was too young. Too young to understand that she wasn't coming back – too young to have to live through the horrors of war.

He had to be strong – Amelda couldn't let his brother see his tears at losing their mother, or his fear of losing anyone else. The day they lost their mother it poured with rain, much like it was now.

"_Why is it raining like that_?" questioned Miiruko suddenly.

"_What_?"

"_She's not coming back is she_?" he asked abruptly, dropping the toy and staring up at him with teary eyes.

Amelda shook his head. He couldn't lie to his brother.

"_Mom's dead_."

Amelda nodded, his mouth was suddenly dry and he didn't know what to say anyway.

Tears trickled down Miiruko's soft face before dropping off the point of his chin.

"_Hey! Don't cry_," he said gently, wrapping his brother in his arms.

"_But –"_

"_Miiruko, do you know what happens when it rains_?"

He looked up at Amelda curiously and shook his head.

"_When it rains, it means that angels are crying_."

The angels cried for three long days and nights after their mother's death, but not even Amelda cried when Miiruko died. That day he lost more than just his brother – that day he lost his soul.

* * *

The rain fell as though it would never stop and a harsh wind cut through the huge droplets, making them fly in all directions like the silver sparkles in a snow globe. 

Raphael tried to ignore the perpetual beating of the downpour, but as they landed on his helmet the sound penetrated into his mind.

_Thump, thump, thump…_

It sounded just like it did all those years ago…

He shook his head. No, he couldn't think about that – about them. That was why he was out here, soaked through to the bone, heavy black leather clinging to his muscled body like a second skin. He couldn't think about that. Raphael increased his grip on the handlebars and pushed forward on his bike. He was already going an absurd speed – especially in the treacherous weather, but it still wasn't fast enough. He was trying to find that place where all you could see was the black of the road, and all you could hear was the roar of the engine, but that place kept eluding him. Instead, all he saw was the same force that stole him away from those he loved and all he could hear was the terrible wailing of those he lost and the triumphant cry of the storm.

His concentration slipped as he recalled that Fateful night. He turned a sharp corner a second too late and the bike broke onto the pavement, narrowly missing a lamppost. But he had survived. Raphael blinked back tears. He lived when all he wanted was to die. What was left for him anyway? Sometimes he wondered if it would have been better if he had drowned.

A wry smile quirked to his pale lips. It seemed fitting that perhaps he should die on a night such as this – so like the night he should have died anyway. The control that he had prided himself on for so many years slowly began to slip away as he closed his eyes, blocking out the glaring lights of the other vehicles and buildings.

Yeah, he should have died that night. Perhaps if he had died, the others would have lived. Sonja, Julian, his parents – he would have given himself to make sure that they would have survived. But no, the sea had chosen to save him and drown his family.

"_Raphael!"_

He remembered reaching out for Sonja's hand, their fingers touching one last time before the roll of the waves tossed him into the ocean and her to her death.

That day should have been the happiest day of his life. It was that day he had received his Guardian Airtos card. He believed that it was that card that had saved him – that card infused with the love of his family…

But it wasn't…

The sound of a horn blared through the air. Raphael opened his eyes briefly to see a huge lorry barrelling towards him. He closed his eyes again slowly. Fate had led him here; he would let Fate decide what would happen next…

* * *

"How in the hell was I supposed to know it was important?" 

Varon's grief had been swiftly replaced by anger, but the tears still fell even as he pounded his clenched fists on the solid door. Varon's room was a state. Not that it was normally clean, tidy or organised, but now it looked like the typhoon from outside had entered and ripped everything to shreds.

"I thought it was only a toy!" he cried as he tore the sheets from the bed and flung them to the floor. "He never told me it was special to him."

_But he told me to stop…_

Why hadn't he just listened and given him back his stupid toy? Why did he have to take it a step too far like he always did? Risked too much, become too involved. Why couldn't he have just let go and moved on?

"I didn't mean to break it!" he hurled his pillow against the wall making it explode in a flurry of white feathers.

He found the digital alarm clock, its luminescent face blinking at him with unneeded cheerfulness. Grabbing it with one hand he threw it at the window, shattering the glass.

"_Just get out Varon – you've done enough damage – just go!"_

_I'm never wanted…_

In an act of fury Varon kicked his wardrobe, making the wooden closet topple before crashing to block the entrance to his room.

Why had he still been unable to move on?

"_Just get out Varon – you've done enough damage – just go!"_

_I'm never wanted…_

Varon collapsed against his window, pressing his forehead to the cold glass. Icy blasts of wind shot through the hole, freezing the droplets of water that had found their way down his face. As he took in deeps breaths of air while trying to stop the flow of his tears, Varon idly traced the edge of the broken glass.

A sharp pain took hold as blood dripped from his fingers and onto his hands. He watched, entranced as the crimson liquid trailed down before disappearing under worn gloves, before re emerging and colouring his wrists. The tiny rivers flowed along his arms before small droplets leapt from the tip of his elbow. The cold air froze them before they landed on his floor, shattering into a thousand fragments that resembled the embers of flames.

He stared out into the darkness of the night watching the floods of rain fall. He snorted to himself. It figures that he would be confronted by his past on the one day he really didn't want to be.

Blood, rain and fire…

They were the only things of his past that he remembered, but they were the parts he had wanted to forget.

It was all his fault – his fault his home burned down. He had made so many enemies and in the end they came back and hurt him more than he could ever hope to hurt them. They stole from him the only person who ever loved him – the only person to care enough to help him.

Varon didn't believe in God anymore. How could he? His mother had always told him how righteous and just he was, but in the end she was killed in the blazing at the church. Varon remembered thinking that it must have been highly ironic that the most perfect woman in the world would die in fires of Hell while worshipping her God.

"_Love your enemies – forgive those who have hurt you and God will welcome you to Heaven."_

But Varon didn't care about Heaven anymore. If God wouldn't act then he would exact his own revenge and punish those who killed his mother. His memories of that night haunted him to this day. The fire, the blood of those he killed. He killed so many – he wondered how his mother would have reacted. She would have forgiven him.

She always forgave, no matter what he did – not matter how far he went. Even when he had tried to take his own life, she had forgiven even in her anger and fear.

As if she was listening the skies suddenly opened and rain poured from the Heavens washing away all the blood, but it could never wash away all his hate. Varon punched his fist into window, widening the hole. Fragments of glass dug into his flesh, drawing pools of blood from hand. The hot red liquid surrounded his knuckles like lava swallowing up the earth.

Varon hated the rain. It always reminded him of that night. The night he was arrested and realised that no matter how pure the rain was, it could never wash away his Sins. That night he discovered that he was impure and didn't deserve to love someone. The only person he had ever cared about had been taken away from him – had been killed to punish him for his crimes. That night, Varon swore he would never love anyone again because he knew he would hurt them.

Varon hated being alone, and that was why he promised himself that he would stay alone forever.

* * *

Dartz sighed as he tossed and turned in his bed. The immense divan felt too empty for just one person, but he had no one to share it with. Soft white sheets felt cold against his body, naked save for the green pendant that he never removed. 

Dartz rolled over onto his back, mismatched eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. His bed was just like his life – cold, empty… He closed his eyes, but the fatigue that had overcome him earlier seemed to have disappeared and now he was restless.

The bed groaned under his shifting weight. Dartz frowned. A bed was meant to be used, but he had never slept a full night in his. He thought back to his life – surely he was meant for some greater purpose? He felt – wasted…

The rain hammered against his window. It sounded like the droplets would shatter the thick panes of glass. Dartz closed his eyes, listening to the steady drum hoping that the sound would somehow hypnotise him and drag him into sleep.

As the darkness that had claimed hold of his life since his twenty first year began to take his mind, Dartz felt a sudden pain in his heart. It was as though someone had plunged their hand into his chest and squeezed the organ until all the blood had been drained. He shot up in the bed, placing his left hand over the throbbing organ. Dartz winced as the unnatural pulse coursed through his body. The Oricalchos stone shone a brilliant green, filling the room with light. As the glow faded, Dartz collapsed back onto his bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his lightly tanned skin.

One hand clutched at the sheets as he tried to regain control of his laboured breathing. Something was wrong with his Warriors. They were in pain, and through the bond that they shared he could feel it. Every ounce. The pain – their pain seared through him. He had felt anything like it before – it was so strong, so concentrated. A tear rolled down his face – his first in millennia.

He felt as though he was dying.

* * *

A/N please tell me what you think and how I should conclude. I have a pretty good idea of how I'd like to end it, but I'm open to suggestions!

Oh and ask me any questions you may have about this fic – I'm not sure how clear I have made the content – I'll try and answer everything so that it all makes sense!


End file.
